Abby
by slayerkisses
Summary: New to town, but not new to moving, Abby Garret faces new people, places and magicks. Cale Taylor is a strong, willful Sighted boy who has made her his right wing. With her expectations for Cale raised too high, all Abby can exspect is for him to fail.
1. preface

Preface

Change is infinite and unavoidable. Like a chemical reaction, it can often lead to terrible and calamitous results. But, every once in a while, it can open up an entire universe and create stars.

Some adjust without a fuss. They follow the flow of things, mold themselves to the ways of others. Nina, my mother, had no problem when our live took a sudden turn. She found it easy to pack up her things and move north. Now we were moving again, this time back south.

I didn't know if it would be as easy this time.

I looked out the window of the old Toyota. The water of Clear Lake lived up to its name, pale and rippling like living glass. Sun trickled between the feathering clouds to shatter over the waves. The golden shards of sun flickered before being replaced by a new light. Docks, beaches and patches of trees cupped the shore. Doubtless, it was beautiful to all outsiders. The creamy color of sand blended with the dusky, earthy tones of the woods.

Nina sat up front in the driver's seat while I occupied the back, stretching myself out to lay against the door. She turned her head slightly to glimpse me. Her skin glittered too, as if there were beams of light ready to burst forward when she took a breath.

"Look across the lake there hun, that's Lakeport."

I couldn't see anything but the lake. I leaned forward, clutched the window and squinted. There was a long dock jutting out into the water. It moved like it was covered with fleshy colored ants. My stomach turned before I noticed they were people. Behind the dock was a beach, then a patch of green. Twisting trees arched around a structure with a domed roof. A gazebo.

"It's nice," I said, returning to my resting position. Though the panorama was truly lovely, it would never be Anchorage.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter one

The Game

I was not ready for school and I was probably not the only one. I sat in my room and pulled out my new and only pair of shorts. They were colorful, plaid, and though Nina had a difficult time believing it, they were fashionable. Of course, style wasn't what mattered. All that mattered was that I would find some relief from the humid climate in them. Unfortunately, they provided no benefit to my unruly, frizzy hair.

_Who cares about fashion?_ I thought.

I had never been the "It Girl" at my old school, and I did not expect any change at Clear Lake high school. I was willowy with bird bones, pale auburn hair, and butterscotch eyes. Not to mention a splash of freckles across my pronounced nose. There was nothing admirable in my face and body. People found my appearance sickly, and it was. I was too thin, too pale. It was not natural.

I shouldered my bag and clambered down the stairs, heading into the kitchen. Nina sat at the table, a silky robe around her shapely body. Unlike myself, Nina Garrett was buxom, which she could not hide beneath the thin fabric of her robe. Not that Ms. Garrett tried to hide her figure. She often wore snugly fitting tops and low rising jeans. Clothing that was embarrassing for a mother to wear.

Nina looked up from her coffee and smiled a white tooth smile that had dazzled many a man. Her thick lips were arched up, red with lipstick even though she had yet to dress herself. "Good morning hun," she said. This was happy Nina, the loving mother that I sometimes liked. The controlling woman I was contemptuous of normally bloomed after her fourth cup of coffee.

"Good morning," I responded, finding a box of cheerios and pouring myself some. I sat across the table from Nina, looking up at her crystal-ocean eyes on and off again as I ate. Nina was talking about bills, her new part time job at Safeway and how she needed more sleep. I didn't add to the conversation. Nina didn't need the help. She was content with just listening to her own voice.

"We'll have dinner at Ashley's tonight to celebrate the move. I got a coupon from the neighbor woman when we were chatting the other day."

"Is Mrs. Taylor really that nice?" I asked. Our neighbor had welcomed us to the neighborhood the day after the moving van had left, but I still wasn't sure. Mrs. Taylor's son was to show me around and I was unnerved by the exposure to society.

My mother had nodded and sipped her drink, not offering me the reassurance I so desperately desired. She only said, "Grab your bag and go._ The Boy_ should be waiting for you."

She said it as though it deserved capitalization. That's how she referred to Cale Taylor. He was 'The Boy' or 'That Boy'. He was never just Cale.

I took my messenger bag and shouldered it once again, hauling five pounds or so of folders and note books up onto my shoulder. The strap began carving a red, painful groove over my bone, but I ignored the irritation and headed for the Taylor's neighboring home.

Though the house was just next door it seemed to be in an entirely different neighborhood. There was a white washed fence around the property and thick, brocade drapes over every window. Flowers blossomed in their pots and lush, green grass knotted thickly across the lawn. I dragged my feet as I made my way up the walk, savoring the sight and relaxing under the sun.

_It's so much warmer than Anchorage,_ I sighed. Lakeport was nice, even pretty, but I'd always miss my real home.

The white front door opened before I had taken the first step to ascend up the porch. A boy stepped out. He wasn't lanky, but he wasn't built. He wore a blue and white Abercrombie polo with thick stripes and kaki shorts that bagged a little at his crotch. His hair was neatly made to look messy and his smile appeared genuine as he greeted me. "Cale," he said, in an almost nervous manner. He held out his hand to me. I stared at it, startled.

An awkward moment settled over us when I didn't move to accept his hand clasp. My mouth was dry; my lungs constricted. I hated introductions. I hated new people. More over, I hated boys.

Cale retrieved his hand and stuck it in his pocket. He regained his composure at a faster rate than I could have wished to achieve for myself. "Well, we best get going."

He glanced back at the house and I followed his look. There wasn't a way to see through the heavy drapery that concealed the confines of his home. But Cale still looked at the window, as if checking something. The inspection quickly ended, and he was leading me down the walkway once again and in the direction of the school.

"So, you're from Alaska?" I nodded. "Did you live in an igloo?"

That wasn't a question I had expected and I actually looked up at him. Cale was smiling somewhat, so I figured it was a joke. I tried a smile, but it felt feeble and the corners of my mouth wavered, as though debating weather or not to frown. "No of course not. I lived in a house. With people, too. Well, there was my mother."

"No wolves?" I shook my head before looking for cars and crossing the street at a clumsy trot. Cale glided smoothly at my side, seemingly with perfect balance. It was unnerving to be next to a person so composed. It made me feel like I was falling apart.

"No wolves," I answered.

"No brothers or sisters?" I shook my head. "Only child then? Huh, must get lonely."

"I only have ma." I deliberately avoided starting him on the topic of being lonely. He wouldn't understand, and even if he did I still wouldn't want to confide in a stranger.

"Then I guess that means your da's not around?" he asked in a burr that was not his own. I hid my annoyance behind a smooth, passive face. He was making fun of my mother's title, if not my entire accent. He spoke with clear, precise words while my H's were hardly audible and my R's ignored. Some times my words slurred into one another and I often ran my vowels too long. Nina said it was from my father reading me bedtime stories when I was little, and from him simply talking to me. My father, Gary Garrett, had the same accent. He was from the east coast. That was about as much as I knew about him.

"No," I answered Cale. My attention was not on the boy, but the town. We walked past houses that were built close together, making a neat line of friendly buildings. To me, they appeared as though they were snuggling.

"You should get a cat," Cale announced.

"What?" I, who had lost the conversation, asked.

"You should get a cat," Cale repeated, not seeming to mind being ignored. "You know, since you're alone and all."

"I'm allergic," was my laconic reply.

Cale looked at me, almost like he was waiting for the "just kidding". I walked on, ignoring his look and hastened steps to keep up.

He continued with the conversation as we walked toward the school. He spoke in mainly questions asking about the climate up in Alaska and how it was different from down in the states. Cale was awed over the simple differences between Californian life and Alaskan. In April, it normally rained in California. It was much the same in Alaska when I lived there, but there was always the threat of sleet and even snow.

"Do they get lightening storms up there?" Cale asked. I stopped my thought to wonder on how he used the word 'they' instead of 'you'. He had already considered me a Californian and not The Alaskan. It put me at ease, somewhat.

"Of course," I answered. "There's electricity everywhere, not just down in the states."

Cale gave a smile and laughed. It seemed half forced. "Why do you keep saying that?"

"Saying what?" I asked, befuddled. Did they not say "of course" in California?

"You keep saying 'down in the states'. Does Alaska not consider itself part of the US? Like Quebec and Canada?" He seamed to measure me with his eyes, looking for a haughtiness that would say I thought myself better than him. Of course, that was ridiculous. I looked away to hide a sneaking smile on my lips.

"Oh, no I don't think so. It's just something that Alaskans say, you know? Nearly everyone there does, so it's like habit."

"Oh, like Minnesotans and saying "don't cha know". I get it."

I wasn't sure weather or not Cale really understood what I meant, but I didn't press. It didn't matter to me, anyhow. All that mattered was getting to school, finding my classes, and getting home. And surviving it all.

I stumbled a few times. Robles Dr, where my new home was built, was at a slight decline before running into Giselman St, which was a steady enough road, at least in the direction we were walking.

Other students walked down the sidewalks in the same direction we were headed. There were groups of students my age that huddled around cars in driveways and lounged on porch steps, soaking up as much sun as they could. I understood their motives and approved. Soon they would see only florescent lights, if Clear Lake was anything like my old school.

Cale waved to a few students, but continued on to Lange St without delay. When I asked him what the rush was he replied that he was going to show me around the buildings.

The first thing I saw of the school was a wire fence, four or so feet high. The second was a playground, small and painted blue, yellow, and green. Cale must have seen curiosity in my eyes. "They only teach ninth through twelfth grade here. You and I are in the same year, right?"

"Junior?" He grinned, an honest grin, and nodded.

I surveyed the buildings as we walked onto campus. The walls were a rough, tan stone that were shaded by the roof, which hung over them by about three feet. Pillars of a dusty colored rock propped up the canopy and created a tunnel-like walkway. The windows and doors seemed to accent the chill that the shade of the awning produced, painted a pale blue.

Cale showed me the important spots; the office, where the gym classes were held, and so on. I collected my schedule and compared my classes with his. Only one matched; chemistry.

"Good, I'll have a lab partner." Cale sighed. "If you don't mind, of course," he tacked on quickly.

"It's fine. I need a partner too."

"I warn you, I'm no good with math. I love the science, but it's the math that gets me."

I shrugged. I understood math and patterns, so it wasn't much of a bother. Maybe if I helped Cale through his harder classes, he'd help me with English. "That's fine," I told him.

"Great," Cale smiled and dragged me forward to show the rest of the campus.

Clear Lake high seemed small to me. Though Alaska was not known for its large cities, Anchorage was a pretty good size. Lakeport was an okay sized town but it's school seemed smaller. Soon the parking lot swarmed with students and the walkways were cramped. I felt as though I couldn't breathe, but Cale was there to help me find some refuge. He pulled me along to my first class where he spoke to the teacher and forced me to speak as well. The class was AP calculus and I seemed to be one of the youngest students taking it.

"You are too smart for your own good," Cale gave me an undeserving complement when the teacher left to fill his coffee mug. Math was the only subject I excelled in.

"Do you have a cell phone?" Cale asked, half sitting on the edge of the table I had chosen to sit at. It was the furthest in the back where I thought I'd feel safe from eyes.

"Yeah," I pulled out a chunk of beaten plastic. The cell phone was old, but it at least worked. Cale smirked at seeing it.

"Give me your number so I can call you at lunch. You'll need someone to sit with, if no one else offers. Oh, and if they do," he muttered as I gave him the digits, "I wouldn't accept the offer, if I was you. Some people hear are a little, well, mature for you. Even if they have good intentions, there really isn't any good in their behavior."

I could have snorted. He was treating me like a freshman or a foreigner who had never been to a real high school. "There are people like that everywhere. I can handle myself."

Cale looked down at me, looking abashed and a little pink. "I didn't mean—people here might just act a little different than you're used to. I don't know what kind of things they do in Alaska, but…."

He trailed his last word, needing to be discourteously cut off. "I can handle it," I repeated.

A bell rang. "That's only the first bell. I still have three minutes." But Cale still stood up and away from the table. "I have a friend in this class. I've already texted her about you. She'll sit at this table, so none of the freaks will."

"Thanks."

Cale flashed a final grin and exited the room. I, relaxing into the comfort of being alone, took the opportunity to survey the room. The walls were the same colored stone as the ones outside, but they had been smoothed and colorful posters clashed against the earthy tones. There wasn't much to the class. There was the teacher's desk at the very front of the room and ten tables arranged in an arch around it. The class wouldn't be big. There were only two chairs to each table. Twenty students max.

I opened my notebook as students began to enter. Taking out a pen, I wrote down my contact information. I wasn't worried about loosing the notebook, not really. I was simply looking for a distraction and a way to shield my eyes from the arriving students.

I had written my name three times before being noticed. "Hey, there's a new student," a female voice muttered, not all too quietly. It was as if she wanted me to hear, thinking maybe I'd look up. But I didn't, or rather, couldn't.

I felt my muscles tense, my shoulders arch forward, but I knew not to look up or show acknowledgement. Chances were that I'd only glimpse the speaker before my eyes would turn themselves away too quickly. It was better to keep my head down. It was better to let them imagine I was too busy to notice their attempts at grabbing my attention. I'd let them think I was distracted. I _had_ to have my head down. If I sat with my head up they would try to make eye contact, which I couldn't hold. They'd know I was shy.

"You look like you're ready to do a face plant."

The comment was directed to me and I knew I must look up. If I didn't the speaker would know I was a coward, that I was just pretending. There was no way I could not have heard her. I raised my eyes just in time to see a pink haired girl taking the seat next to me. "What?" I asked, my voice showing its hesitance.

"If I wanted to, I could have bumped into the back of your chair. You're head would have slammed down into the table."

I was dumbstruck. At least this girl had chosen not to bully me. "Oh. Sorry."

"You're Abby, right? The new girl Cale was helping out? I'm Tina." Tina threw her legs up onto the table. She wore a belt skirt, ratty fishnets, and a shirt that proclaimed _DISTURBED_.

_A warning maybe._

"Yeah."

Tina asked the same questions as Cale had and I was becoming annoyed by the igloo joke. The more Tina talked, I found it hard to believe she and Cale were friends. Not only was her ostentatious dress contradicting to his plain, clean cut polo but her words were colorful while Cale's were plain and chosen with before thought. She would have considered Tina a freak compared to the other students. Perhaps Cale's image of an ordinary teenager was warped.

The teacher walked in and introduced himself to the class as Mr. Valle. He collected a stack of papers he left out on his desk and began passing them out. It was a quiz. "We'll only be learning the rudiments of calculus in here. This quiz is considered elementary. It's made to humble you. Start now and I'll stop you when the clock hits the twelve."

The students looked at the clock and groaned. That only gave them five minutes.

I looked at the paper. It wasn't difficult and there was only one problem.

_Evaluate the limit. Lim (x approaches -2) (x+2)/(x^3+8)_

I wrote down my work quickly, found the answer, and set down my pen. Tina was gnawing on her eraser, glaring at the half sheet of paper on her desk. Only two others had their heads up, but they were listening to Mr. Valle, who was making his rounds around the room.

"Your cube is almost correct," he told one student. To another he said, "Have 2^2 at the end."

He approached Tina and I. Seeing I had my head up and my pen down, he advanced on the latter. "Pretend to be working, at least. What do you have?"

I let him take the paper. His brow wrinkled as he quickly scanned my work. After reading the answer he folded the paper four times and stuffed it into his pocket with a curious look towards me. "What's your name?"

"Abby Garrett."

He nodded. "And you're new." I nodded, though it wasn't a question. Cale had already told him. "Alright then. Stay after class."

Everyone had been staring at me, assuming I had cheated. Tina leaned over and whispered. "What was that about?" I shrugged and put my head down in my arms, subtly hiding my face.

Mr. Valle called me to his desk after the bell rang and the room cleared. He asked the questions I had expected. Had I been in any AP math classes before? Did I have special tutelage? How much did my Algebra II class touch on? I explained that my teacher from the previous year had taught my class how to find the limit, and that was one of the last things he had showed us.

Mr. Valle held me till the three minute bell rang and I mumbled that I still needed to find my next hour. He let me go reluctantly, saying he hoped I would be one of his _better_ students.

"That took forever," Tina complained. She had been hiding outside the class's threshold. "Just some advise, don't put yourself out there to your other teachers today. If the kids start getting the impression that you're smarter than them, they'll be less likely to like you."

"You waited?" I asked. That struck me and I could feel some tender feelings forming towards the girl.

"Duh," Tina fell into step with me. "What's your next class?"

I dug in my bag for my schedule and groaned. "English."

Tina smiled and changed our direction. "Than we're going the wrong way. You've got Quinn, right?"

"Yeah."

Tina led me to the room and walked me in. She waved to a boy, who had chosen to sit in the back with another male, and gestured for him to come over. I instantly felt uncomfortable, seeing how tall the boy was when he stood. He reminded me of the sort of men my mother liked to bring home. The ones that ate all our available food and took what they thought they could sell easily.

"Abs, this is Turner." Tina introduced him, but she left my side and possessively wrapped an arm around Turner's torso. She stared at me with a steady glare, waiting for me to submit to the knowledge that the boy was taken.

I covered her mouth, hiding a smirk at the girl's ridiculous behavior, and nodded. "Hi," I said to Turner shakily.

"You're Cale's Abs?" he asked, using the new nickname. I assumed that I ought to get used to it. It already was beginning to sound permanent.

"I guess." He snorted a sort of laugh at my response. Tina thumped him on the chest for it.

"We'll take care of her, if that's what you want," Turner assured his girlfriend. To me he said, "You can sit with me and Westly."

I nodded, knowing I'd need someone to sit by. Tina left after getting a pass from Mrs. Quinn, leaving me with the two boys. They were nice enough, but there wasn't much time to talk. Mrs. Quinn was chatty. She took up most of the class hour talking about her husband, her job coaching the volleyball team, and her new born baby. She passed out the itinerary for the first semester. We'd be reading Mark Twain, to my disappointment. The book wasn't my favorite.

The class dragged on for nearly an hour with Turner carving 'TINA' into his new seat, me resting my head on my arm, and Westly snorting quietly in his sleep. I was fidgety, having taken a peek at my schedule to see my next class. Westly and I shared gym together and I was anxious.

The bell rang and my stomach began to free fall. Elementary worries like whose team would I be on, what would I do for gym clothes and what we were playing plagued my thoughts. I was so consumed I didn't notice Westly walking at my side, nudging me in the right direction.

"You seem out of it," he said, shooting me a look full of question.

"I'm nervous."

He raked his hands through his gelled spikes, ruffling the sun bleached hair. I noticed a few girls look at him longingly as they passed and glaring at me with envy. I couldn't fathom why, though. Westly was okay looking and popular enough that he was recognized in a group of his peers, but so were a lot of others. Compared to the additional males I had seen in my life, Westly was just the average guy.

"Gym here is easy. We run for a bit in a pack, so even if you're a slacker no one notices. Then we focus on whatever unit we're doing, which is baseball. Or, I guess, soft ball." His tone was grudging. "The school doesn't want it's girls to be hurt by real baseballs."

"Lame," I muttered, though I was relieved. Playing baseball with competitive teenage boys did not sound terribly safe.

"Yeah, listen. You don't have to do anything for the game, 'ight? Mainly the guys play. The girls just bat and run."

I nodded, but I felt a little contemptuous towards Westly and the other boys. I knew I could play the game just as well as any of the males in my new class. And I would. My nerves were burned away by my sudden undertaking. I would prove Westly's opinion on girls wrong. I would play in the game.

I was loaned a uniform by one of the girls in my class. I didn't catch a name, but the girl had been friendly enough that I wasn't resentful for relying on her. I found a locker next to the girl and changed, frowning when the girls in the locker hall next to ours burst out in laughter.

"Those are The Gigglers," my new companion told me in a hushed voice. She pointed to a mirror that reflected back a picture of the next locker hall. I glanced before looking back at the red painted lockers. The group of girls were tan with unfair curves and straight hair. I felt jealousy rise in my throat, burning like acid. It wasn't fair.

"Are you friends?" I asked, trying to sound interested in making bonds with The Gigglers.

"Well, not really. I talked with Amber, the shortest one, in fifth hour last year, but I haven't seen her all summer. Not even down at the shore."

"Oh," I tugged on my shirt and pulled my hair back from my face. A few pale orange strands fell into my eyes, determined to be contrary. I followed the class, including The Gigglers, out of the locker room.

I learned my companion's name was Linda Fouquet when the coach did attendance. When my name was called a few students turned to find the new person. I inched closer towards Linda, but kept myself in the open. I was stilled determined to change their minds.

The class started off with a run. Twice around the campus. I could do that. It was easy for me since I was so light weight, even if I was on the tall side. Measuring my breathing, I pushed myself forward with my longer legs. Calculating my strides, I pushed my way into the center of the pack. There the runners were at their thickest.

I found myself being pushed back by two senior girls. They blocked my path with their elbows, glaring daggers over their shoulders at me when they could. At first I wondered why they were blocking my way, then I saw that they were the only remaining girls left running so deep in the group. Ahead of them were only the boys.

When I found a break I dropped out of the pack and ran around them, picking up pace. I past Westly smiling and caught up to the front runners. My heart was beating wildly, my hair falling from its tie. My legs burned and my stomach ached, but it felt wonderful. I was aware of myself.

I was soon ahead of the pack by a yard, then two. I began my second lap around the school with no qualms. This was right. When you were in school, you were expected to do your best. It didn't matter your gender or the subject. I was doing what I was _supposed_ to do.

I looked back between a breath. The pack was beginning to split up. The faster runners picked up their lazy trot and ran. The girls at the rear who had been, for the most part, walking lifted up their heels and stumbled forward. The mass of red and white uniforms began to dissolve.

A stocky boy pumped his legs, catching up on me. He had to be a track runner. His strides were long and purposeful. I guessed this was his first time running at the front. He was too short to push past the pack while running, though he had enough muscle. He ran up to my side, winked, then glided past.

Feet thudded behind me, the pack catching more ground than they had ever before. I could hear heavy breathing close behind and spared another glance. I was almost back to the starting line. I could spare a look.

It was the short Giggler. Amber's long, professionally dyed hair cracked in the wind she was creating. Our eyes met and I whirled around. The Giggler had been staring at me. _Me_, of all people. I knew this mission of mine would draw some attention, but I hadn't imagined it would be hers. If I caught a Giggler's attention, than I would catch all the others. Maybe that was too much recognition.

The stocky boy was laying in the grass when I past the finish line. Hearing my feet skid across the lawn, he looked up. "New girl!" he called, jumping to his feet as though he hadn't just been running.

My legs quivered, telling me to run again. But I held myself steady and caught his gaze. "It's Abby."

"Abs, that was amazing!" I turned to see Amber had caught up with me. She reminded me of all the popular girls I had seen before, smiling even when most wouldn't. The short girl leaned forward panting and grabbed my arm for support. "You should join cross country with us. You're fast."

That was a blunt statement, 'you're fast.' Abby had heard it before. She had to be fast to keep up with her mother's running.

"I don't do sport teams," I muttered, feeling color rush into my face. Most people blushed while they ran, not after.

The boy stung his arm around my shoulder in a too friendly gesture. I had to tilt a little or be tugged forward completely. "We need more runners, think about it. Please?"

I had always been a sucker for people with manners, and he _had_ said please. "Fine, I'll think about it."

"Good, just find me then. I'm the captain this year. If you get moved out of this hour gym, just ask for Chris Austen."

"Thanks," I muttered, drawing back my shoulders from his arm. I crossed my arms over my chest. Chris looked at me before smiling.

"Welcome to Clear Lake," he said before trotting off to join the class. They were huddling around the coach.

Amber lingered at my side. I could see Linda, who was with the rest of the class, glance over at us repeatedly. She would want to know what was happening.

Amber tugged on a loose string that had hung from my sleeve. "Listen, don't pay attention to any other recruiters. They're just looking for someone light to throw around. Like Brianna and Megan. They'll want you as a cheerleader. And Brandon, he'll ask you to be in Climbing."

"Is there something special about cross country then?" I asked. If I was to consider being in a sport, why not consider all the sports that Clear Lake had to offer?

Amber smiled and my stomach rolled unpleasantly. It reminded me of Nina's white toothed grin. "You'll have a better chance in cross country, is all. You're shy, aren't you?"

I froze momentarily before regaining my composure. I had realized before that my timidness was noticeable, but I had thought my acting was fair. "I'm just not used to people. People didn't really pay much attention to me in Anchorage."

Amber nodded, as if she truly understood. I wondered if she actually would. "Well, here you're new, and new things are normally in vogue. You're a fresh face for the clicks, but I'm getting the impression that you're not on the same wave length as the cheerleaders and whatnot. Cross country is a family, not a click. None of us are the same, that's what makes it fun."

"Fun?"

Amber nodded. "Please just give it a chance Abs. You like running, don't you? Normally no one runs when it's in gym class. I don't even like to."

I did like running, it was relaxing. When I was running the universe focused in on me, helping me along. The earth stretched on forever just so I could keep going.

_And I could use some family_, I thought, remembering what Cale had said about being lonely. I was terribly lonely.

"I'll try," I promised.

When the last runners finished their final lap the coach whistled for everyone's attention. He numbered off the class, split us into groups, and we set up our fields to play.

Westly, I was glad to notice, was on my team. He came to stand at my side while I laid out second base.

"What was that about?" he asked. I noticed his forehead was shining plastic with perspiration. When I turned around without an answer he stepped into my path with a lurching motion. "Don't just walk away from me."

I raised my brows at his tone. I couldn't believe I had acerbated him so easily. "What do you want?" I forced myself to ask. My voice was softer than I would have liked. I wished I could snap at him, get in his face and call him out for being so rude. But I couldn't. Nina had raised me to be quiet. To not talk back. She had raised her daughter to be weak, but passed it off as being polite and loyal.

To my surprise, Westly calmed down. His shoulder's lost their rigidness and his eyes cooled, but his tone was still firm. "You split up the pack," he accused.

"I wanted to run."

"Then run with the pack," he snapped and walked off to brood in the outfield grass.

I grabbed a glove from a pile of them, feeling satisfied. Even if Westly was angry with me and had won our verbal dispute, I would win the war. I wouldn't run with the pack. I was not a wolf. I was not a dog, always loyal and submissive. Running up front with Amber and Chris was my revolt against the rest of the class.

I situated myself by second, ignoring the looks I was getting from the other students. A boy approached me and said he was to cover second base. I shook my head, turned my face away and waited for him to leave. Eventually he did, marching haughtily off to play short stop in place of one of The Gigglers.

The first batter hit the ball right to me. I caught it in my glove, feeling my fingers crack at the impact. I ignored the slight pain. The runner was already on her way to first, covering nearly half of the ninety feet to the base. I stepped forward with my left and threw overhand with my right. An underhand throw wouldn't make the distance in time, though it would have felt more comfortable on my wrist.

The first baseman caught the ball and simply stepped on the base, forcing the runner out. I stared at the ground, hiding my smile in fear of appearing smug. There were calls of, "Nice catch and throw!" and "Stay awake in the outfield! There's a ball coming up!" The latter focused me and I looked up once again.

The batter was a boy with hair so blonde it looked white. By the way his teammates shifted, he was not their best player.

The pitcher threw the softball gently underhand, making it an easy hit. I was flustered. No one on my team seemed like the type that would give mercy to a poor player. Not even the students who didn't participate.

The batter's posture was languid, his grip on the bat loose and casual. If he hit the ball, he would more than likely throw the bat back at the catcher. But, the girl who played catcher was calm. She even had her glove off, as if she wasn't expecting a strike or ball. She had the leather mitt fisted in her hands.

The batter swung low when the ball began to fall and hit it with an audible crack. The ball went streaking past the pitcher, who had ducked, and was headed in my direction.

I didn't regard the speed the ball was moving at, I only saw my chance. Moving myself into it's path, I held out my glove.

Iron hot pain shot down my finger's and up my left arm.

I tugged my arm back and trapped the ball in my mitt with my right hand, ignoring the starbursts of pain throughout my left side. I looked down at my glove, making sure the ball was truly in my grasp. And it was, cradled against the soft leather fondly.

"Hey!" a panicked voice called my attention. I looked up to see the girl who had been on the grass line just behind me. She had dropped her glove and took an advancing step. "Are you okay?"

I tossed the ball to the staring pitcher before tugging off my mitt. My fingers were bright pink and aching, but not broken. If my hand had been off by the slightest I could have broken one or even two digits. "I'm fine," I assured the girl.

"That would have hit me, if you didn't catch it."

"Would it?" I tried to move my fingers. Fire burned up my left arm and I gasped. "Ow!" I yelped. "I think I may have to sit out for a bit."

"I'll run to the nurse to get you ice if you want!" the girl offered enthusiastically.

I accepted, knowing the girl just wanted out of the game. She wasn't playing, anyhow. I gestured to the short stop who had wanted my base to take it. He called Westly in from the outfield to take his old place. Westly stopped me on my way to sit with the other team's batters.

"This is why girls don't play," he hissed in my ear quickly. "You're stupid, getting in front of a hit like that." But his eyes were shining with admiration. I could see it.

I took my seat on the bench, blushing when the other team members began telling me the same thing Westly had. It was stupid for a girl so skinny to be plucky. I'd hurt myself. I _did_ hurt myself.

"Liam's never been out before," one of the boys told me while I fidgeted. "He's never had a bat either where someone hasn't gotten hurt. You broke his record the first day. Maybe it's good luck for this year."

I glanced over at Liam, who was sitting next to me since he had been the last out. He was like white marble, completely still and pale. It didn't even look like he was breathing.

I stirred and squirmed in my seat, uncomfortable sitting next to the silent Liam and the next boy to get an out. The air was filled with their masculinity which thickened the atmosphere and made it hard for me to breathe. It felt like sitting with a pack of hounds, not two boys. They didn't feel human. They felt bestial, even while ignoring me.

Relief flooded me when I had my ice pack brought to me. My hand ached terribly and my head had began to throb. I didn't know weather or not to put it on my forehead or my hand. I decided my hand was more ill-fated and let the ice numb my sorry digits. There was no chance of me using that hand again for the day.

Gym ended and I changed in the locker room with Linda. "Do you have lunch next?" she asked and I nodded. My stomach growled needingly. "You should sit at my table. I think you'll get along with my friends."

I could tell she was looking for an excuse to talk to me later. Linda, though nice, seemed nosy. It wasn't to the point of prying, but I was convinced she could be meddlesome. I wanted to get through the school year as easily as possible.

"I'm already sitting with Cale Taylor and his friends," I explained, making my voice apologetic. I didn't want to hurt Linda's feelings.

Linda wrinkled her nose. "What," I asked.

Linda shook her head, "Nothing," she said too innocently, closing her locker. "It's just, I guess Cale is alright, but he hangs out with some creepy people. Like that Tina girl. Last year I heard she was caught _naked_ in the boys bathroom with her boyfriend. I just _wonder_ what they were doing. Oh, and he's nothing special, either."

"Oh."

I wasn't sure what type of person Tina was, but that rumor could be just that. A rumor. Believing Tina, who dressed bawdy, would burlesque propriety was not a creative judgement. But, believing she would to such an extreme was. I wasn't sure what to believe.

Linda waved me a goodbye and I tugged out my phone when the locker room cleared. I found Cale in my contacts, hesitated and pressed the green call button. "Hey, meet us out in the parking lot. We're by the beater Buick. You can't miss it. It's the only pale blue, tuxedo car."

"Okay," I muttered, feeling a little abashed. I hadn't been able to get a greeting in before he began talking. I hung up my cell, stuffing it in my short's pocket.

Cale had been right. It was easy to spot the Buick he, Tina, Turner and Westly surrounded. Seeing me, Cale summoned me forward with a curled finger. Unsure, I approached. It was like advancing on a monarch.

"We're gunna grab something to eat," he told me. "Did you bring any money?"

"Five dollars for lunch."

"Sweet, that'll get you a foot long. Let's go to Subway then," he said with his wide grin, turning to Turner. He was insisting, rather than suggesting. Turner nodded and got into the driver's seat. He must have seen what I had in Cale's Cheshire cat grin. There was the ability to out wit anyone, determination to win any argument and complete leadership. Surprisingly, I was relieved I had someone like Cale leading me along. He could do my judging for me.

Tina sat with Turner up in the passenger seat so I was sandwiched between Westly and Cale. Both of their legs touched mine, too hot and too close. I felt the suffocating panic crawl up my throat and pushed it back down. They were male, yes, but nothing to be afraid of. Westly, though grudgingly, seemed to accept me for the most part. Cale wanted nothing but to help me. My silly fears were encumbering our relationship. I couldn't let them.

"Couldn't you have thought of a closer place?" Turner complained. "I don't want to drive all the way to Eleventh, and what if there's traffic?"

"Is there even traffic now?"

"Probably. Plus, I want somewhere to sit. I didn't bring a pen to last hour so Mr. Baker made me stand for the _whole_ class."

"Poor baby!" Westly said in a shrilly voice, obviously mimicking something Tina would say. The girl turned around and struck his knee with her fist. Westly cringed.

"They have tables and booths at Subway," Cale debated. "It's not like we'll make you stand on your own."

"But it's still too far away." Tina had turned back around in her seat. She didn't turn back while she spoke. "It's the first day of school. We shouldn't be late for our classes till at least the third."

Westly threw his arm around me like Chris had earlier that day, but instead of pulling me down he yanked me against his side. To that I began to struggle fiercely, unsettled by the infraction of my personal space. Westly squeezed my arms down to my sides painfully, trying to still me. I muffled a yelp. "We can use her as an excuse," he huffed, still trying to hold me firmly.

"Hey!" Cale snapped. He leaned forward and whacked Westly hard. His blow struck the taller boy at the conjunction between shoulder and neck. The pain was enough to cause Westly to loosen his grip and I pulled away.

_He seems like the type of person who gets hit often_, I observed.

Cale scowled at his companion. "We can't use Abby. Not all of us. There isn't a teacher dumb enough to believe that it took _four_ students to bring _one_ person to her class." He stressed the numbers. "What's one tardy? We're not skipping."

I thought Cale would trounce Westly by the tone of his voice, but then I just decided he was hungry. Teenage boys were irritable, I knew. And maybe time and food were touchy subjects for Cale.

_Boys are weird_, she thought and instantly felt young.

Being with Cale's group of friends felt wrong. I didn't fit in. Every one of them had something to say, something sharp and witty. They were bright and unafraid; complete rebels. Sitting in a booth by one of the windows, they shared their stories with me, but it seemed more for the sake of their own entertainment than for my knowledge.

Tina had stolen a bag from Coach that was made from horse skin and pony hair. She also had spray painted 'SAVE ME' on a cow who has been on display at a fair. Turner said she was a member of PETA (_People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals_). I nodded, though I didn't and probably couldn't understand. What was the point in stealing a bag when the animal was already dead and they were made more than likely in bulk? And even if her spray painting hadn't hurt the cow, it was already dead and cling wrapped in a styrofoam tray to sell at Costco. But I didn't speak my inner thoughts, knowing I wouldn't have had any better way to bring attention to the situation.

Stories of rebellion quickly turned to stories of self rebellion. Westly apparently was hilarious when he was high.

"Do you smoke?" Turner had asked me.

The question was a surprise. I didn't know what answer they would want, therefore I lied. "Once, but I didn't like it."

Tina laughed. "Than the weed must have been bad," she insisted. She slumped down in her seat, eyes slitting in languor. "You can't _not_ like it. It's, like, impossible. Westly has some at his house, if you want to try again after school?" her question was hopeful.

"Um, sure," I caved under the plea. It couldn't hurt me to try it once, at least. I could always lie again and say I still didn't like it.

They ate their sandwiches at a laggard pace I assumed was deliberate. Tina giggled to me that the man behind the counter was looking at the two of us. She fanned herself with a hand. "It's so hard being this sexy," she said, arching her back so her breasts were evident. She had cut her shirt herself so that the neck was low. Wiggling, she made it slip lower.

Cale tore into his sandwich with his teeth. "Shut up," he demanded, mouth full. "He's looking at you because we're supposed to be in school, loser."

Tina flipped her hair in his direction.

I was watching Cale as he fell back into silence. To me, Cale seemed like an entirely different person from the boy who had greeted me that morning. He was different around his friends, demanding and raw. I wondered if this was the true Cale; a born leader always held at the highest rank.

_Maybe he's lonely, too. It's supposably lonely at the top. _If he was feeling Godforsaken, I wouldn't be the only one. Maybe it took an outcast to comfort this destitute leader. _It's fate. Ma brought us here for a reason, not just so she could bag groceries. We're meant to help one another._

My attention was roused after minutes of cogitation. Cale was leaning over me. I looked up at him, foolishly expecting him to say something witty and poetic. '_Abby_,' I imagined his mouth moving with the words, slow and deliberate. _'Is everything all right? Do you want to talk?_'

I knew what I would say in response. I'd say no and cry, maybe even lean into him to be held. And Cale would hold me while pushing the others away, knowing he was the only one I would tell my secrets to. Knowing he alone would understand my pain.

Cale blinked when I didn't move away immediately. "Abs, can I please get out?"

"What?"

"I need to throw away my trash."

I noticed that Westly had already moved to let Cale out and felt my face heat. I scooted over the warm spot where Westly had sat at my side and stood. Cale slipped out, brushed past me and threw away his cup and the papers his sandwich had been wrapped in. Turning, he folded his arms over his head and stretched. His shirt rose to show a thin strip of hair that ran down his stomach.

"Class started five minutes ago. We should go," he asserted and walked to the door. There wasn't a bout of dispute, Cale didn't admit the option.

Turner shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and followed Cale out, loyal adviser to his king. Tina followed him half-skipping and Westly followed her. I was sure he just hadn't wanted to be the last to leave, making me the outcast once again. But outside I felt warmth settle in my stomach. Cale was waiting outside the car, door opened for me to crawl through to the center seat. He smiled and helped me in before taking his own seat.

I had thought then that I could get used to being at Cale's side.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter two

Sorbus

By the end of the school day I was battling tears. It was never easy when it came to people. I had tried my best but being under the public's eye exhausted my nerves. I felt worn to the bone. It took a lot out of a person to stand before a group of strangers and try to present them-self as an agreeable being. Endeavoring to impress a single person or even a small group was one thing, but it was hard to encourage a crowd of peers that I was presentable.

Cale was waiting for me by the playground. That calmed my fraying emotions. He sat at the bottom of a slide, his knees pushed up towards his chest. The picture was comical but I didn't quite feel like laughing.

"Hey," he greeted me when I was close enough to hear him. His hand was raised in the air. It fell to rest on his thigh when he saw my damp eyes. Just like I had imagined him doing, Cale asked, "What's wrong?"

But I felt awkward. I couldn't talk about myself as easily as I had imagined. "I'm just stressed, is all," I waved him off.

"Oh, do you cry when you're stressed?" He seemed unnerved by the thought. He was drawn back, unwilling to comfort.

I shook my head jerkingly and rubbed my hands over my eyes, careful not to smear my mascara. "No, no," I lied. "I'm just not used to the florescent lights."

"Ugh, me neither!" he groaned and stood. "I was starting to miss the sun. At least we can see it now, sort of." He looked up at the heavy clouds.

"Yeah," I nodded and followed him as Cale began the trek back home. I found then that my body was hurting. My fingers still stung from my wild catch and my joints were stiff from sitting on my butt for too long.

"Are you sure you're okay? You look anemic."

I tried to muster the courage I needed to tell him what I wanted. I had been plucky earlier during gym when I had a purpose. Why couldn't I now when my inspiration was just as great?

Cale was staring at me, expecting an answer.

I fought my floundering words. "I'm just—I'm...sad."

Cale tensed, "Oh," he uttered in surprise. I felt my stomach spasm before Cale's expression changed. His eyes and mouth softened, not becoming lax but loosing their tautness. "Do you want to talk about it?"

We continued to walk, but Cale's attention was on me while he slowly loped forward.

They had been the words I wanted to hear, but I found myself shaking my head no. "It's nothing."

"Please," he insisted and I was teetering. His tone was compelling, childish and wanting, but still hinting his concern. "Tell me Abs."

There it was; his demand. I felt the weight of it in my chest. He was dominant and able, I could feel it. I was sure than that he was sent to foster me. To help me through this transition.

"This isn't the first time we've moved." The words came out in a rush. "When something happens, ma packs up our things and calls for a moving van. It makes it hard to collect a lot of stuff, it makes it hard to keep friends. We moved to Alaska when I was three. That was after...my da died. Than we moved again when I was five. It's been a steady occurrence since."

"Than shouldn't you be used to it?" he asked, staring at me still. I noticed his eyes were dry-ice smoke grey, almost colorless. It was strange to look into such a blank stare and still feel warmth. It was dizzying.

"It's not something that you adjust to. I settle down in a school for about a year or so, make some friends and then we leave. It's—it's like having your whole life ripped out from under you and thrown into the back of a moving car. It...sucks."

Cale reached out his hand and images of him holding me flashed in my mind. I was struggling with my words; it would be so much harder for me if he held me while I tried to find them. Though I craved the physical comfort, I knew I could not take it.

While I worried Cale stopped walking. His hand rested on my arm, fingers spread to touch as much of my skin as possible. I had difficulty focusing myself, feeling a tugging in my forehead. It numbed my jaw, then my cheeks and ears. Cale moved closer, placing his remaining hand on my other arm as well. My ears rang.

_Why am I reacting like this to him?_

Most people would assume I was infatuated but that wasn't it. Cale was male and there was still a small part of my conscience that told me not to trust him. My body still throbbed a warning to me when he was too close. I had liked a few boys before and this wasn't the needles-in-the-gut feeling I had accustomed to crushes.

"Calm down," he told me, tone playful but still advising. I had already been calm, as well as numb and tingly. Cale pulled his hands back, grinning his Cheshire cat grin. "It does no good worrying about it. Maybe it'll be permanent this time."

"I can't live on maybes," I muttered, but I still smiled an almost-real-smile. I had hoped then that Lakeport would be permanent.

Cale seemed to look at everything as we walked down Giselman. I watched him as I fought the rising road. His chin was tilted at an unnatural angle, eyes slitted and nostrils flared. I had decided he looked like a hunting dog or even a wolf. I could see the resemblance, now that I had the thought instilled. The clash of Cale's blue-black hair against his unlike-Californian pale-peach skin suited my mind's picture.

I tripped over my feet. I had been trying to keep pace with Cale, but he was walking too fast. I couldn't catch myself in time and smacked the ground. Cale instantly stopped.

"Are you all right?" he asked in a tense tone. Cale was on his knees at my side, mouth crumpled in displeasure. His pale eyes were shifting up from me to our surroundings.

I pushed myself up into a sitting position quickly. My knees throbbed and I wasn't sure if I could stand just then, but I didn't want him to think I was seriously hurt.

"I'm fine," I assured, brushing off my knees. Little bits of gravel and dirt clung in my skin. Using my nails, I tried to pull them out.

Cale stopped my hands. "No. I'll patch you up later when we get home. Just—be careful till we get there."

I smiled at him apologetically. I noticed then that he had taken my hand in his. I drew it back, happy that he was willing to give comfort but embarrassed that he had. "I will."

"Did you trip over anything?" he asked, but there was something analytical in his tone and expression. "Did something trip you? A rock or root you didn't see?"

"No, I was just walking too fast. Well, you had been walking too fast for me." I tried to smile again, but this time I felt myself fail. My lips curled down, rather than up. I was making myself seem like an idiot again.

Cale made a face like he just grasped hold of some bit of knowledge he hadn't known prior to my statement. Then his face dropped into an easy smile that made me forget the look. He took my hand again and hulled me to my feet.

"So, there are track runner's who have room for being clumsy?"

"I'm not clumsy, just tired," was my rebut. I took a light step to make sure I had my feet under me before following Cale once more. "Who told you about cross country?"

"Westly. He's got a big mouth," Cale said cooly. He tucked his hands in his pockets and tilted back his head, letting the sun break against his skin. I watched him, wishing I could look so self-possessed. I wished I could be composed rather than my usual agitated, disorganized self.

"Are you, like, their leader or something?" I blurted out before I could think of what I was saying. I had to know, though. I needed to know where he stood and where my boundaries were. If I crossed the line one day with Westly, would it be forgiven? If I got close enough to Cale, would his judgement save me from the others? If he _was_ the commander of his group, I would do anything to be his right hand. The protection that position offered was all too tempting.

Cale raised a single eyebrow and I found I envying him again. The look was so regal and it made him look wise like a tribe elder.

"Leader? You mean like in a gang?" He laughed at his comparison and waved a lax peace sign in the air between us. "I could be a Latin King, if I tanned. Or maybe one of the Bloods or Crypts."

I felt a pang in my stomach, but I smiled all the same. "I don't think tanning would help."

Cale shrugged and returned to topic, which I was grateful for. Even if Cale hadn't meant to, my feelings had been hurt when he ignored my question.

"I'm not a leader, exactly. Tina, Turner and Westly just want a discernment person they can go to when they're in some shit. They need someone to keep them settled when the cops come knocking at the door, someone to remind them that they don't have a permit, that they can't come in and that they'd get caught if they ran. Sure, they'll listen and ride in my pockets, but they have their own agendas."

_They listen to him. Good._

"So, they'll do what you tell them to?"

Cale gave me a curious look that was too firm to be a squint but without the passion of a glare. He was analyzing me, trying to find my motives. "Yes, for the most part. Sometimes they do when I'm gone, but they'll ignore a few of my warnings. Experience has taught them not to, but they slip and make mistakes."

I couldn't tell weather or not he was really that skilled in perceiving, or just vain. _I'll just watch, for now,_ I decided. I'd decide weather he was skilled at judging and advising when I had proof. Till then, I would make my own decisions and stand on neutral ground where it was safe.

Cale didn't turn towards his house once we were on Robles. He followed me to my own home, propping open the screen door while I tested the knob. It was unlocked, but Nina wasn't home. We'd get broken into, again, if my mother wasn't careful.

"Where do you keep your band-aids?" Cale asked, but instead of waiting for an answer he walked straight through the livingroom, into the kitchen and down the hall. I knew he'd find the bathroom on his own, open the cupboards and find the first-aid kit. I had unpacked it just the other day when I was setting out the toiletries.

I sat down on the couch, finding the house's land-line, portable phone within it's cushions. I stood and returned it to it's charger. Next to the charging light another light flashed green. I pressed the Voice Message button next to the strobe light and it stopped. The room filled with the familiar, comforting voice of my grandma.

"Hullo dears, just calling to make sure you made it there safely. The news said there'd be bluebird weather for your trip, but you never know if those weather men will be according to Hoyle or not. Sometimes they just say what they want to be true, like we all do. Well, give me a jingle when you can. Abby, you left a pair of ear rings in my bathroom. I'll make sure to save them for the next time I see you. Bye bye."

I turned, about to find some paper to make a note on, when the Voice Message beeped with another missed call. It was grandma Kathy again. Her voice was flustered.

"Sorry for calling so much, it's just that Robby's _Gone Missing_. Oh, they already have people out looking at Portage Pass. I don't know if they'll ever find him. People go missing here all the time and I—there must be some signs of him! They, the police or whoever, have a recording from the last Ham Radio he made contact with from his plane. He had said he was only three miles from Anchorage, but there are no traces of him anywhere!

"I know you've just settled down and are not planning on a visit for a while, but I thought you should know. They don't broadcast missing persons from Alaska down in the states much, unless it's a famous person or some such. It happens all too often. I'll keep giving you updates. Call me when you can."

I had to lean back against the couch once the Voice Message clicked off. Grandma Kathy was right, people went missing in Alaska about every month. Even the natives were accustomed. The phrase Gone Missing was not uncommon.

But my Uncle Robby was an excellent pilot. I had been in his rugged bush plane twice while it was going-down. He landed it both times without panic. Uncle Robby was always collected, almost Cale-like. He was Nina's solar opposite. He couldn't have crashed, he had too much control.

_And there's no traces of him._

Even if he had lost control and crashed, his body would have been found in a matter of days. Teams of skilled rescue crews are dispatched into the air, water and land when there is a missing hiker or pilot or fisherman report. No area is left un-scoured. But Kathy had said "Gone Missing." She didn't expect him to be found. She knew Robby Reid had disappeared.

I felt hot tears on my face. I couldn't help but feel vulnerable. I loved my uncle, he was the father I didn't have. There was so much of myself in him. My love for all things dirty and unfeminine, my love of the woods. His thinning hair and whiskers matched my pale red curls, and we had shared the same brown eyes. Yet we were so different. Robby had been an independent man by all means, confident and well-balanced. I was like Nina, nearsighted and subservient.

Hearing Cale's returning footsteps, I quickly dashed away the tears. But the moment Cale entered through the kitchen I knew I had been caught. Taking a seat on the couch once more, I waited for his reaction to catching me in tears de novo.

Cale, without a word, set the first-aid kit down by my feet. The plastic made a muffled thump against the hardwood floor. The box was something my mother had fun decorating. There were pink feathers glued to the lid and rhinestones studded along the handle. The old Barbie and Hello Kitty stickers were beginning to peal and fade from the countless moves, the pink turning a peachy color.

Cale began cleaning my abrasions with a swob dipped in hydrogen peroxide. He paused, examined my cuts closer and pulled out a tweezers. Silently he pulled out thin, sharp rocks and glass that had sunk into the skin. I watched him, foolishly remembering how Robby would dress my cuts when I stayed with Kathy.

Even as the tears rolled off my face and broke on his hands, Cale concentrated on his task. Even when I began to audibly sob, he was focused. Glass and rock fell to the floor; smears of blood covered his fingers. Using a large adhesive bandage he covered the cuts. Straightening himself, he wiped my blood off on his shorts. Then he sat on the couch, taking me into his arms to comfort.

I sobbed harder, my thoughts roaring.

_Why did he have to leave me with Nina alone? Why wouldn't they let me stay with them in Anchorage? It was easier there, we were happier. They left me so fast, I'll forget everything about them. I'll forget Robby. Kathy'll be gone like him soon too. They'll be gone, in heaven or whatever, and I'll be with her. It's so lonely with her. I want_—

I didn't know what I wanted, and that made it all the worse. I wanted comfort, maybe. Someone to talk to rather than being spoken to. I wanted passion and love and life without fear of people and opinions. I was tired of being the go-to-girl for upraising and support, being ignored when I had sated whoever needed cheering.

But I couldn't sort through what I wanted, all I could think of was being alone. Robby and Kathy were gone. Nina was left. Nina and now Cale.

_I shouldn't have wasted those days there. I should have done something more. I should have convinced them I was worth keeping._

My eyes hurt like I had missed nights of sleep when I pulled away from Cale. He met my red and puffy gaze, pale eyes clear and blank. "Better?" he lilted, his sing-song voice unsuited for the situation. It brought an unwilling and small smile to my lips.

"Yeah," I brushed my eyes. It was a so-much-for-wearing-makeup moment. My fingers were stained black like I had my prints taken. "Sorry."

"What happened? You were fine when I left you."

I knew there was no avoiding telling him. He knew something was wrong and he would insist on knowing what. Plus, I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell someone.

"My uncle Robby is missing. Dead." I sniffled. Attractive.

Cale didn't respond immediately. His eyes flickered, emotions bursting behind glass walls of armor. He digested what I had told him slowly before saying, "There's proof he's dead?"

"No, but there's no proof that he isn't. He was flying his plane back to Anchorage and it never landed. They haven't found any wreckage or body. He disappeared."

Cale was too smart to suggest that Robby had just flown to a different location. His radio transmission would have been located. Even if he had evaded that, the sky would be clouded with rescue parties. He'd be found.

Cale sat back against the cushions, pulling up one leg. His face was dark and cogitative, his eyes staring steadily at the floor. If I had been the carpet, I would have ripped myself up and flown out the door.

"Is it possible that something was with him in the plane?" he asked slowly, as if weighing what he was going to say. He'd take out the words that were too heavy for me to understand and replace them with lighter ones, hoping the meaning of what he said would weigh even with what he meant.

"I don't know. I need to call Grandma and ask. I just got the message from her and panicked." I, ready to spring for the phone, paused myself. "Why?"

"There could be things, unlucky and dangerous things, that could have jeopardized his flight." Cale looked up from the floor. "Was your uncle a strange man? Did he have maybe a little too much spirit?"

I was glued to my seat in confusion. Robby liked to do wild things like cliff-diving and hand-gliding, but he was always contained. He never went too far, never took on something he couldn't handle. Whatever dangerous objects Cale was referring to, Robby would have left them behind before taking off. Robby Reid didn't look for danger, let alone take it as a carry-on.

Cale had been watching my face. He stood abruptly. "You know what, we need to get your mind off this."

I didn't want to fight him any more than I wanted to think about what could have happened to Robby. I wanted to forget him, at least for that moment. I wanted to forget everyone who was gone or leaving.

Cale led me out of the house and I trotted behind him down the roadside. A rain was starting, wetting our hair and skin. The Taylor's front lawn was greener under the cool sprinkle, mist crawling up from between the blades of grass. The fog undulated in the air in ways I had never seen. It was dancing to the lilting music of raindrops striking hard earth.

"Abby!" Cale called a little too loudly. I turned to look at him, realizing he was standing dry in the thresholds of his home. I could feel my clothes stick to my skin and knew I was soaked.

"S—sorry." I scrambled into the house, peeking back at the mist before Cale closed the door behind me. The fog beckoned me back with ghostly fingers. I had wanted to ask Cale if he'd seen what I had, but then decided against it.

Cale sat down on a carved wooden stool, tugging his shoes off. "Mom!" he called, kicking off his last sneaker. He rubbed the back of his head and I wondered if it hurt. "Mom!"

"I'm in the livingroom changing Cormac! Could you go grab a fresh diaper from the nursery?" she called back.

Cale jerked his head in the direction of his mother's voice. "Go in there. I'll be back."

I nodded. In order to get Cale to trust me I'd need to show I was obedient. Now was my time to impress him.

Mrs. Taylor was kneeling on the livingroom floor, her knees pinning down the corners of a faded green blanket sized for an infant. Her long and dulling black hair was tied back from her face and ran down her back, out of reach from tiny hands. She made cooing sounds to the naked baby she swabbed with a wet-wipe, but it didn't cover the fussing sounds he was making.

"He is going to start crying."

I paused, hid my surprise and looked over my shoulder at the voice. A boy around the age of twelve sat indian-style with his legs crossed on a worn grey love-seat. He was unnaturally skinny and tall for his age. His complexion, unlike Mrs. Taylor's and Cale's, was a flawless dark brown-grey like tree bark. With his muddy eyes and feathery green tinged locks, he did not belong in the Taylor family.

The boy smiled when Mrs. Taylor grunted. "I know that, otherwise I wouldn't be chirping at him to quiet."

"I was just warning our guest. She looked overwhelmed." I tried to block out his words, but I couldn't help but listen to the child's rustling voice. He spoke like no other middle schooler I had ever met.

Mrs. Taylor whirled around too quickly, the tie around her pony sliding. "I didn't hear you come in, you're so quiet." I smiled, though I felt repulsed by the sudden attention.

Kimberly Taylor had the same grey eyes as Cale. The similarities in their faces were an unexpected aid. I instantly felt calmer around Kimberly, more at ease. I laughed in a way I thought affable. "I didn't mean to surprise you. Nina is at work, so it's quiet at my house. Cale invited me over."

Mrs. Taylor nodded. "Well then, let me introduce you. That over there," she flicked her eyes to the dark skinned boy, "is my son Sorbus. And this bundle of excrement is Cormac." She tickled the baby's stomach but he looked closer to tears than laughter.

I looked back to Sorbus. He simpered brilliantly at my curious look. "I know what you are thinking. I did not name myself, alright? You will have to ask _her_ about it."

Kimberly shrugged and turned back to her babe. "His full name is Sorbus Aucuparia Taylor. The Rowan tree. _In the yard there grows a Rowan. Thou with reverent care shoud'st tend it. Holy is the tree there growing. Holy likewise are it's branches. On it's boughs the leaves are holy. And it's berries yet more holy. _That is an excerpt from The Kalevala. I've remembered it."

"Oh," was all I could think of to say. What do you say to a woman who named her son after a _tree_?

"Mom, you are freaking her out. Do not ask her about it. She will start to sing in joy if you do."

"_Sing?_"

Kimberly began to hum to herself. "Oh rowan tree, oh rowan tree," she sang quietly to Cormac. "_Thoul't aye be dear to me, entwin'd thou art wi' mony ties, o' hame and infancy_."

Cale returned, a fresh diaper and talcum powder in his grip. He frowned, hearing his mother's song. "In front of guests?" he asked, a disbelieving tone in his voice.

Kimberly turned to look up at her son, a lazy grin on her face. "She doesn't mind."

Cale plopped down on the floor next to his mother. "Does she understand anything about what you're skirting around?" he asked, taking Cormac by the ankles and lifting his rear off the blanket.

"Not a bit," Mrs. Taylor assured. She slid the fresh diaper under Cormac, powdered his red cheeks, and folded the diaper up to be taped. "You'd be mad with me if I did let it slip, wouldn't you?"

Cale's face was darker than it had been before entering the house, but his voice remained cool. "Her situation is different than ours."

"Different than Westly's?" Kimberly seemed surprised. Cormac finally began to cry. She turned back to him, picked him up and began to rock him while cooing.

"She has no protection. No knowledge."

"Than why bring her here, of all places?"

Cale looked up and I caught his gaze. He looked lost, his grey eyes hazy and flickering over my face as if in search for answers. I shivered, feeling a tickling sensation in my mind. It strengthened into a tug before stopping.

"Sorb, could you take Abby out for a minute?" Cale asked his brother. I, who was about to start, stopped when he returned his attention to me. "I'm sorry. I'll explain later."

I stalled, biting my lip. "Promise?"

He drew a cross over his chest before holding up his pinky. "Promise."

Sorbus stood. He was much taller than I had first imagined and I knew he was older than twelve, maybe even older than Cale. "Do not be making any promises you can not and _will_ not keep, Cale." He shot his brother a cold glare. I shuttered, this time not from titillation. Sorbus looked deathly serious about vows and honoring them.

Cale didn't look away from me when he retorted, "I have gifts you don't. I plan to use them, if need be."

"It is disreputable."

"It's human."

I was surprised that Sorbus paused. His long mouth was turned down at the corners, his pointed jaw clutched. "And you would be more knowledgeable in all areas mortal?" he asked, but didn't wait for the answer. He turned and began walking further into the house. "Follow, Abby," he called back to me.

"Go on," Cale encouraged.

_I trust him_, I told myself. There was no reason not to follow Sorbus.

He led me down into a bedroom. It was tidy and smelt like earth, spices, and Hollister. Sorbus sat himself in an arm chair that had been pushed back into the room's corner. I didn't realize till then the odd feeling I got when I was around Sorbus. He radiated something inhuman, but it was stronger than the bestial sensation I received from my male peers. Sorbus was extraterrestrial and tied my stomach in knots.

Cale's brother stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankle. His brown stare bore into mine, beating down what reserves of courage I had stored. I sat down on the bed, knees too weak to support my body.

Sorbus started. "I do not mean to frighten you, Abby Garrett."

I struggled for a response that wouldn't be rude, but would warn him I wasn't interested in conversation. "Thank-you," I stuttered. It was a short answer, leaving no room for further conversation. There was nothing after Thank-you but for You're-welcome.

Sorbus flinched, as if the phrase had been a physical blow. "If you do not believe me than that is fine, but do not use those empty words with me."

"I'm sorry," I apologized, surprised but his fierce tone. "I didn't mean to—to offend you."

"You are human, you never mean it." He leaned back into the chair he perched in till he was nearly laying, his hands folded on his stomach. "Then again, maybe you are not as mortal as you appear."

"What?"

Sorbus's eyes slitted till I could see nothing but black in his sockets. The room filled with the heady musk of lichen, detritus and rotting bark. My heart skipped, remembering summer days with Robby and Kathy at Chugach State Park.

Sorbus smiled and I recoiled into the mattress's duplet. His once white and perfect teeth were now made of polished, ebonized wood. "You can not see the truths before you, can you? You only know the lies?"

His skin began to become textured, rough like the bark of it's color. His feathered locks clumped together, forming vines, leaves and red berries. He looked like a tree grown into the shape of a boy, but when he moved the illusion was broken. I could but stare. He was neither human nor plant. He was something else.

Sorbus laughed. His beautiful bark skin stretched to fit his expression. "What am I? A truth or a lie?" He lifted up his hand and a blossom budded in his palm. "I will tell you a secret, Abby. I cannot tell an untruth and I am not a lie." He blew on the flower and it's peddles broke away, scattering around him in a pink shower.

I had wanted to ask him what he was, but the words were stuck in my throat. I wanted to be bold and ask him if any of that day was real, but I couldn't bring myself to act.

"There is no reason to fear what is a friend." The room began to heat. My muscles loosened. When I took in a breath, I tasted honey and rain on my tongue. Sorbus swayed in his seat and the sound of rustling of leaves filled the room.

I leaned back on my elbows, feeling my weight growing to be too much. "What are you?" I asked, tongue heavy and words slurred.

"I give the dryads a place to climb. I am rooted into the earth at every revel. The Will-o-the-Wisps flicker around my trunk and light up my leaves. I am infinite yet finite. I am imperishable yet transient. Abby, what am I?"

"Confusing me," I muttered. Sorbus laughed gayly.

"Ah, but what are you?" he crooned to me. "Not Sighted, that is out of the question. But perhaps a half-ling of something. I would say ashray, but your eyes are far too dull and stupid." Sorbus paused. "Or maybe you are not blooded with the Good Folk after all. Maybe you are the child of one of the Infected, or worse, the Damned."

"Nina isn't sick or damned," I argued, though in retrospect I agreed with Sorbus just to be spiteful towards my mother.

"But what of your father?" I nearly swallowed my tongue. Sorbus clapped his hands together merrily at my expression, reminiscent of The Joker's all too perky humor. "You do not know, do you? Poor child, you have been cursed since birth, something I am sure you can not fathom." His laugh was symphonic.

I fisted my hands in the duplet. I thought then that I knew I wasn't cursed. That if I was Nina or Kathy would have told me. I would have felt it. I thought, _If I was cursed than wouldn't I have experienced some sort of sinister feelings or felt a dark power around me? Like bad chi or karma or whatever mumbo jumbo?_

_I'm not cursed_, I told myself. I inched off the bed and held myself till my legs were steady under my weight. _He's a monster._

"You may not go out there," Sorbus warned me as I stumbled to the door. I had then bolted to the enterence but he was there first, moving impossibly fast. He had been a blur. "It is you they are deliberating about out there."

"Then whatever they have to discus they can discus it with _me_." I touched his arm to push him out of my way and blanched. His skin really was made of bark.

Vines begun to grow from Sorbus where I touched him and wrapped around my wrist. I felt another wrap around my waist, not constricting me but squeezing tight enough to hold a firm grip. I panicked and struggled, screaming at him. "Let me go! Bastard! You freak!"

Sorbus's face was tight and he jerked me suddenly. I felt my back hit the door, then I was air born. I struck the ground with my shoulder, feeling it pop out of its socket. For the second time that day hot pain shot through my body.

Vines were still wrapped around my stomach and hands. Sorbus advanced on me, brown eyes altered to a ebon void. He grabbed my wounded arm, which had hung uselessly at my side, and twisted it. "Ah!" I had cried, but it had no affect on the living tree before me.

Berries from Sorbus's hair showered over me when he tilted his head forward. "I am none of your insults," he tugged my arm, lavishing in my pain. "I am a man of the _shee_. I am part of the _Elana_. The People. We do not take kindly to mortal ignorance, and I am not one known for taking pity."

I screamed again, feeling his hands on my face. Fear overtook me and I began to cry, repeating whatever apologetic phrases I thought would sate his anger. His fingers were on my eyelids, pressing down with growing force, when the bedroom door opened and cracked against the wall.

I cried out in relief. Though I could not see past Sorbus, I imagined it was Cale standing in the doorframe. But my mind had misled me. Sorbus retracted from his position and turned to face the intruder. There were two of them, both with matching looks of amused anger.

"You _would_ piss off one of the _shidhe_," one snorted. It was not Cale who had come to my rescue, it was Westly.

But there were two of them. I didn't retort. I just stared. They looked identical, both with the same gelled hair and dimpled chin. The sameness between the two was almost sickening.

_One is enough._

Sorbus, after a glance at Westly, returned his attention to me. He reached out and gripped my neck, squeezing it tight enough that I knew he wasn't joking about hurting me. I struggled, closing my eyes against the darkness that began to crawl into my vision. I was choking, out of air and struggling to regain what oxygen I could. My gasps were gravely and rough. I gaged on my own saliva.

But then the pressure was gone. I opened my eyes to see one of the Westlys had caged me against the wall with his arms. "Hold still and don't fight me." He stared at me till I nodded. Then I was lifted into his arms, then his shoulder. From my perch I could see the other Westly. He had Sorbus pinned to the adjacent wall, hands buried in the tree-man's chest. Brown tendrils wrapped around both of them like a spiderweb. It held them to the wall.

_What is this?_

Westly carried me out of the room and across the hall into another. There he set me down carefully, letting me hold him till I had my balance. Then he went to the window and open it. "Out this way," he insisted. I was in no position to argue. I had wanted out. I didn't understand what was happening, but I knew I wanted out of Cale's house.

It was still raining. My clothes were still damp from my pause before entering the Taylor house and they were soon drenched once again. Westly followed behind me, splashing up mud as he landed.

The chill helped focus me. "Why were you there?" I asked.

"Freaks are attracted to freaks." He laughed. "I was dropping something off when I heard you scream." Westly led me around the house, crouching when we passed the livingroom window. There he paused momentarily before continuing.

"Will they be mad?"

"At what?"

"You, the other you, hurt Sorbus." I was struggling to explain. "Will he get in trouble, the—Westly you left behind?"

"He'll recede slowly. He becomes less powerful the further away I am. I can only go out a mile or so before he evaporates." He trotted down to the curb where an old Honda Civic was parked. "Get in," he called, getting into the driver seat.

The events from that past hour finally struck me and I paused. "Why?" I asked, feeling my bravery return slowly.

Westly looked at me with an annoyed glare. "Come with me and I will tell you," he said tersely. "Cale is too up tight about this _secret_ business of his, yet he trusted you enough to bring you inside his home. He must see something special in you, something different, but he'll take his time in deciding what he'll do about it. In the time he takes you'll be exposed to things you cannot handle alone. Things like Sorbus, some better some worse. Come with me and I'll tell you about them. I'll help you as much as I can."

_This is a joke._

"Why? Why would you want to help me?" I pushed back my soaked hair. The rain was cold and I began to tremble. "You don't know me and I know you don't like me all that much."

Westly took a long enough pause that I thought he wouldn't answer. Then he said, "Because he hadn't offered me help, either. Because I know you are not strong enough or brave enough to stand it."

"I _am_ brave."

"Stupid, but not brave. Reckless, but not courageous. I saw you in gym today and what you did took nerve, but you acted blindly. You could have hurt yourself, catching that ball. You could have made some enemies, showing off like you did. You made your point, but you chose not to drop your contempt for me and the rest of the class. You acted on a grudge. It isn't always bright to do so."

My chest had constricted. I had been very proud of myself for what I had proven that day. I had believed my actions were more than justified.

Westly half closed his car door. He called, "Let's go!" before slamming it shut.

I complied, knowing I had no other option. I couldn't go home and wait for Cale to come over to explain. If Westly was right, he wouldn't. Westly was promising me answers, and though Cale had as well, I wasn't sure if he would be as willing.

Westly drove faster and far more recklessly than Turner had earlier. He didn't slow as he turned off High St. and nearly hit a cement wall that proclaimed 'DEL LAGO'. I held onto my seat and tried to keep from hitting the car door with my shoulder.

At the end of the tarmac road where Via Del Lango St turned into Via del Cabana, Westly pulled over to the curb and parked. Out of the windshield I could see Clear Lake and the hills beyond.

We were outside a grey-green triplex. There was a tree in the front yard, its color similar to Sorbus's bark skin. I shuttered.

"It's not a Rowan-man," Westly assured me, getting out. "It's oak."

"Are there any Oak-men?" I asked, only half serious.

"Not to my knowledge." Westly stepped up the drive and disappeared around a bend of high bushes. I followed, feeling intruding. Westly entered the home with familiarity, calling. "Tina!"

"What do you want, fag?!" she called back.

Westly gestured for me to follow him inside. I did, kicking off my shoes. Tina was laying barefoot on a long couch, her legs overlapping Turner's lap. Westly walked into the livingroom and sat in a Lazyboy. He threw an arm over his eyes, looking tired. "Abby had her first encounter with Sorbus."

Tina sat up, "Already?" She beckoned me in. "You're both soaked. Tell me what happened. Turner, go get towels."

I was instructed to sit in a chair that matched the one Westly sat in. The leather chafed me legs and arms where they stuck. Tina fluttered over me, touching my face on and off again, saying I was shaken worse than a lost kitten.

"Your neck is bruising," Tina touched her own throat. "Westly, what happened?"

"She pissed him off, I think. He was in a rage, I had to project to hold him _and_ get her out of there. Then he wouldn't stay still without shadow ties. I'm tired as hell, leave me alone."

"So, does she know?"

Westly sighed, sitting upright. "Not quite. Cale brought her in, but I doubt he had any intentions of telling her." Westly gave me a weak glare, not putting himself into the gesture. "Listen before you ask questions, alright?"

"I'll try."

"Okay, so this is it. You know faeries? Like, leprechauns and elves and shit?" I nodded affirmative. "Would you believe me if I said they were real?" I neither nodded nor shook my head. I wouldn't believe him, but I didn't have the nerve to fess up to my mistrust in Westly.

"I didn't believe him, either." Tina smiled at me. She tugged up the hem of her shirt, showing me an old scar. It was a bite mark over her hip, still red and perfect. I could count each tooth. It looked as if Tina hadn't fought the animal, or couldn't.

Tina reverently ran her fingers over the scar, as if it brought back a fond memory.

"I was attacked by a faery dog. Cale said it was called a Cwn Annw. He said the dog was named for the Judeo-Christian Angle of Death." She wet her lips, eyes in a haze. "Back then I—didn't know what I was capable of. I couldn't have tricked him to let me go. I didn't know how to protect myself. Westly helped me. Cale would of, but—"

"He doesn't like taking chances." Turner had returned. He tossed two towels at me, then one at Westly. I stood, placing on the chair than the other around my shoulders. Turner took his seat on the couch, stretching his legs out. "Cale has the Second Sight which allows him to see the_ Elana. _It is dangerous for him to have contact with faeries. If they knew he could see them they'd blind him, or worse, kill him. Having the Sight runs in his family. He was taught to be cautious."

"And it nearly got the both of them," Westly jerked his head towards Tina and Turner, "killed. He knows what gets rid of faeries. He has the protections, he just chooses not to help others."

Tina looked astonished by Westly's accusations. "You know that's not true."

"He left Abby alone with one of them without any warning or charms," Westly argued. "He could have at least given her something iron so he couldn't get close to her. You weren't there, Tina. He was right in her face, strangling her. If I hadn't come she'd be dead."

He turned his rage on me. "Abby, what I'm saying is this. Faeries are real. Monsters are real. Demons, ghosts, they're all real. Cale let you into his house where some of the_ Elana _know or suspect a Sighted human lives. A faery had seen you. You _angered_ it. The result now is that you are no longer safe in Lakeport, maybe not anywhere. Faery's never forgive and they live forever."

Turner snorted. "I doubt Sorbus will try to kill her. He was angry, but he knows not to harm any of Taylor's friends." To me he explained. "Sorbus was a changling given to Cale's grandmother. He stays with their family still, completely devout."

"If he's so devout, than why'd he try to murder her?"

Turner shrugged. "You know the _Elana_ are easily upset. Even Sorbus, whose only lived with humans, loses his temper. It's dangerous," he shrugged, "but it happens."

"For trolls and Gittos, yes, but rowan-men are usually contained. But I could give a shit about that. The point is, Cale isn't handling the situation as carefully as he should. If he is to bring her into our world, than there are things that need explaining. There are steps that must be taken to assure her safety."

"Excuse me—sorry." I took a deep breath. My mind was spinning, but I couldn't just sit silently. "Lets say I believed you and I wanted your help. What are you? Faeries?"

Turner had smiled wildly at the suggestion and crowed. With his long hooking nose, brown-black skin and ebony hair he appeared as though a hawk. "No, we are as human as you. Or, as human as we _think_ you are."

I puckered my brow, nibbling my upper lip. "Sorbus said something like that, something about me being inhuman. He told me I was...cursed. Infected or damned."

"He didn't mean _you_ were infected or damned, we would know by now if you were. He meant one of your parents could have been. Werewolves or HLV. Something that could be passed through genetics."

"_HLV_?"

"Human living vampire. Someone mortal who ages, but with the characteristics of a vampire. Like Cale. He drains people of their physical energy instead of blood. Then there is another boy in our school, Liam Foreman. We've confronted him a few times but haven't found out how he feeds. It's not by blood, or at least human blood. Otherwise, we would have heard of the murders."

A lump had formed in my throat. I remembered Westly's words. 'You could have made some enemies, showing off like you did. You made your point, but you chose not to drop your contempt for me and the rest of the class. You acted on a grudge. It isn't always bright to do so.' She turned to look at Westly. He stared back at her with a knowing and worried look.

_Would Liam make an enemy just for one stupid out?_

I suddenly felt rattled. _I don't believe in faerie tales_, I told myself, but it was no help. It was like watching a horror movie. Even though I knew it couldn't possibly be true, it unnerved me.

"Enough explanations and questions," Tina demanded. She must have seen something in my face that insisted the conversation needed redirecting. She pulled an old cigar box from the coffee table and set it on her lap. "Did you get the good stuff back from Cale?" she asked Westly.

"Didn't get the chance, but," he dug in his pockets, coming up with a plastic baggie, "I got this the other day. I tried it this morning and it's just as good. Not better, but not worse."

"Good," Tina took the bag from him, opening the box. It smelt strongly of smoke, dust and bonfires from years before. Tina pulled out what looked to be a cigar, but when she turned it towards me I could see it had been hollowed out. Tina held it up to her eye like a telescope. "It's crumcaca."

I watched Tina stuff the blunt, wanting to refuse it yet anxious to try the pot. I wanted something to lose my thoughts in, but my pocket began to vibrate repeatedly and I reached for my phone. The I.D. flashed MOM.

"Where are you?" Nina's voice was shaky. "I came home and you weren't there. The door was unlocked and all the lights were on. I thought someone had taken you."

I withheld a sigh. Nina would jump to the worse conclusions, not even regarding her surroundings. If I had been abducted while entering the house there would be visible signs of a struggle. But of course, Nina wouldn't have considered that aspect.

Back then, I found nothing wrong with lies. They were helpful little things when I needed out of the house. Nina was a protective mother. I'd grow to be part of the house's furnishings if I never lied to her to get out of the house.

I came up with a quick tale, nothing long and complicated, but something I thought she'd believe. Looking at Tina, Turner and Westly I pleaded with them all silently to not say a word. If one of them spoke my cover would have been blown. "I went back to the school to talk with the cross country coach. They want me on the girls team this year."

Nina paused and I could hear her swallow in the background. "Oh, well, I want you home in ten minutes. Finish up whatever you've got going on and come home now."

I was sorely pressed to ask why, but I knew my mother's answer. Nina found comfort in me being home where she could see me. Nina didn't like her daughter outside for any reason other than school. Back in Alaska I was only allowed out for trips to school, home and Kathy's.

_Now it's just to school and back._

"Okay, I'll see you soon." I hung up.

Tina dangled the blunt before my face. "You'll be eating in or to go, miss?"

I took the stuffed cigar and carefully put it in my short's pocket so it wouldn't spill. "Out. Westly, could you drop me off in front of my street? My mom wants me back."

Westly nodded and stood, telling Tina and Turner he'd return. Once in the civic he asked me, "Are you going to be alright living so close to Sorbus? Do you want a place to crash at nights, or tonight at least?"

I was pleased that he asked and beamed internally. Though Westly's kindness came with a few smart-assed comments, it wasn't unwelcome.

I shrugged my shoulders dismissively, but I was worrying about the same thing. "What can he possibly do to me? You said something back there about him not being able to get close to me if I had iron. Most of my house's frame is made of iron."

"And if you leave?"

I pursed my lips and debated silently on what to do in that situation. "I'll only leave if Cale's there, or you are or Tina or Turner." I sighed and leaned my head against the window. I was beginning to feel trapped by an overly complex story.

Westly tilted his chin up at a man he saw on the roadside, a gesture of acknowledgement between two strangers. "Promise?" he asked me.

"I can't," I admit honestly. "Nina wants to eat out tonight, so I can't promise anything. I'll protect myself, though, just tell me what I'll need."


End file.
